


Finding Peace on Solid Ground

by oanja



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, cameos from other players, genre typical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 04:42:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2719118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oanja/pseuds/oanja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sidney's a mage who gets tangled in the politics of the Empire when he saves the life of a well connected Centurion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Peace on Solid Ground

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arilyn9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arilyn9/gifts).



> Disclaimer: This is called fanfiction for a reason. If you personally know the people in this story don't read this.
> 
> I wrote this for the hockey big bang and barefootstarz made an awesome mix for it. Please go and have a listen: [here](http://8tracks.com/barefootstarz/finding-peace-on-solid-ground)
> 
> Thank you opusculasedfera for beta reading! You made this story much better and put up with my complaining. :)
> 
> Arilyn9: This counts as a Christmas present, right? ;)
> 
> [also I made a map (sorry about my handwriting)](http://oanja.tumblr.com/image/104360350627)
> 
> Last note I promise... This story is a total mishmash of different fantasy tropes, but I want to credit astolat for the magic system, even though I totally changed things around to fit my story. Her's is incredible and I would recommend it for anyone: [You can read it here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/638694)

The war against the Sedorn dominion has been going for more than a seven years, with intermediate bouts of uneasy truces and Sidney has been part of the 4th Falandrian battalion for most of it. Before the war he was in the Mages Assembly, sent there at the age of twelve when it became obvious he had the ability. He thinks his sister must be all grown up now, but he cannot even imagine what she would look like, a woman instead of a little girl. Sidney cannot remember his mother’s face either, only the faint memory of the perfume she used to wear and how she would always worry about him and fuss with his hair when he was small.

He does remember his father telling him to work harder, push further and never give less than his all. Some of his mates at the Assembly had looked askance at him for his attitude and even his teachers had warned him about burning out, or even killing himself if he extended himself too far and too thin. 

It is a moot point now anyway. There is nobody here on the field to disapprove of how he uses his magic. Nobody thinks to ask how low his reserves are, how long he can keep this up. He is the only battlemage left in his battalion. Valeria and Mario, the rest of his three-person team had died years back. 

Valeria from some sort of lung ailment three years ago and Mario from an arrow to the neck the year after that. Losing Valeria had been tough but when Mario died Sidney had been devastated, as he had been Sidney’s mentor and the closest thing to a friend he had. Neither of their bonded lingered long afterwards and nobody was sent to replace them.

Sidney sits down on his bedroll and eases his boots off. The leather is cracked in places, but there is nothing he can do about it. At least he still has proper shoes, which cannot be said about some of the new replacements that had arrived last week.

They have been running out of everything steadily since last year and Sidney hears the troops whisper about it constantly. Does this mean the war is almost lost? What will happen to them if it is true? Some men still have optimism and insist that the enemy must be just as badly off, but it is a cold comfort. 

People are shouting outside his tent, but Sidney is deaf to the noise. He knows when people are shouting in terror, or trying to rouse the troops and this is not it. The battalion digging in for the night, nothing to worry about.

Sidney wishes he had some way to wash off the grime from his skin, but there is barely enough to drink. The summer has been hot, the rain a rare blessing, but also a curse with the way it ruins equipment, stores and makes the roads un-travelable mud pits half the time. Still, Sidney is not quite ready to give up at least trying to keep himself clean, so he takes out a handkerchief and spits on it before carefully wiping at his hands. 

His rings glint back at him, silver, gold, iron, bronze, copper and steel. He moves from them to the bracelets and shines them too, the charms on them tinkling as they clink together. Two of the three used to belong to his fellow mages and even though transferring his magic into them never works as well as on rings and bracelets made specifically for him, it is still better than nothing. The ritual of cleaning them is soothing and centers him, even if he has to remember prying the bracelets off the corpses of his colleagues. 

He will need a new ring, or maybe to add another charm to one of the bracelets. Rings are better because they always touch skin, but he cannot wear more rings. Ideally he should have a champion, a bonded to give the rings to, to hold his power, to amplify it and loop it back to him, making them both twice as powerful, but Sidney could never learn the knack of it.

Knack is an understatement. The only person the Assembly had tried to pair him with had died, overwhelmed by Sidney’s power. The other mages had been afraid of him after the disastrous bonding; nobody had ever heard such a thing happening before. Sidney thinks that is why they sent him off to war in the first place. To die honorably and to be useful until it happened.

He is still alive though, even after all these years. Once his commander had pushed another bond on him, with the same results and it has not been brought up after. Sidney tries not to think of those men even if they still haunt his dreams some nights. 

It should not be possible, how well Sidney is coping. The general wisdom dictates that if nobody can channel, house and augment his power, he should not be able to function. Mages always need to be bonded and they are drawn to the bond, the promise of more raw power, but also for the stability the bond brings. That is what everyone is taught, but Sidney has never really felt any of it.

The sun is setting rabidly and Sidney lights a single candle in a dingy lantern, careful with his power, the smallest spark enough to ignite the wick. He has been clearing earth all day, digging trenches and putting up palisades and he is exhausted. There are limits even to his endurance, no matter how strong he is in the arts of destruction magic. 

Sidney feels stretched thin, the magic boiling inside him, ready to burst out. He never feels drained of power, the way other mages complain about it. He just gets closer and closer to the edge of his control. He is pretty sure that if he ever goes beyond the point of his endurance he will explode in a huge wave of destruction; fire, lightning and earthquakes rushing outwards from the spot where his body should be. 

Sometimes he dreams about it and wakes in cold sweat. Nobody else knows about his suspicion; who could he tell?

~*~

In the morning one of the sergeants comes by his tent with a cup of weak tea and a bread roll. Bylsma looks him up and down; the same way Sidney has seen him inspect the remaining horses. Sidney ignores it and eats his breakfast, ravenous. There is a light mist hanging over the valley where they are camped and the air is still cool.

“You good, Crosby?” Bylsma asks and rubs his hand over his scraggly beard. Most of the men gave up on shaving after the third year.

“Yes,” Sidney says and it is mostly true. He does feels better than he did last night. Among the many things Sidney has forgotten is how to it is to feel good, feel normal. His magic licks at the edges of his restraint continuously.

Bylsma nods and looks away. Sidney wonders why he asked and hopes it is not because he is needed for something strenuous. Their position is secure enough for the time being, they are supposed to wait here for the 6th legion, merge with them on their way to the Deloin river and further away from the border. Out of the farmlands, the two westernmost provinces all but abandoned by the empire now. They are one of the last units still on this side of the river as far as Sidney knows.

The army has been retreating since the New Year.

“I want you to rest as much as you can today. There might be an opportunity for a patrol later this week and they need you to go with them.”

Sidney finishes his tea and tries to think why Bylsma would say that. Bylsma is only a sergeant, but somehow he has been put in charge of Sidney, who obviously holds no rank in the military. Some officer must have concocted this plan and put him in the role of a messenger.

There had been two new captains with the reinforcements and that might explain the order. Nobody has been willing to risk Sidney’s life in something as trivial as a patrol in years.

“Alright.” Sidney says and hands the cup back to Bylsma.

The older man purses his lips, like maybe he means to say something more, but only nods at Sidney before walking away.

Sidney goes back into his tent, recovers his jacket and heads towards the smith’s wagons. On his way over he stokes the fires in the tar pits and the coal grills. He needs to use his power, let some of it out, no matter what the sergeant tells him. The buildup is worse than the exhaustion, not that a man like Bylsma could ever understand that.

Gonchar is working on his small portable smelter, the air around the place already scorching. Sidney walks up to the smith and urges the flames hotter. The smith looks up from his work and nods at Sidney. They have an understanding. Sidney will help him with the fires when he can and Gonchar will make him his rings and amulets.

“Need another?” Gonchar asks and turns to his molds. They had made ring molds for Sidney years ago, but even these days Gonchar likes to complain about not being ‘a bloody jeweller’ half the times Sidney needs his help.

“Not a ring.” Sidney corrects him regretfully. He could maybe have all his rings melted into a new bracelet, but it would be risky. He does not have anyone to give the rings or bracelets to and taking in the power of all rings in one bracelet always makes him quake inside, the magic brimming to the edges of Sidney’s control. A mage is not supposed to create a powerloop with himself after all. He has done it once and he does not think he can take on another bracelet. The charms are bad enough.

“Charm?” Gonchar asks, but he is already looking for some bronze wire to work with.

Gonchar is from Onrains one of the Northern provinces and is not very good with the imperial language Sidney and most of the 4th speak. Sidney does not mind, he never has anything to talk about anyway and the language barrier means he does not even have to try.

As Gonchar works, Sidney focuses on the charm, funneling some of his power into the small loops of bronze wire. It feels good to have the power drain out of him, even temporarily like this. Sidney wishes he could pour all his power away and never take it back.

It does not take long for Gonchar to finish the small bauble. The smith dips the hot metal into the pail of water where it sizzles angrily as it cools. Sidney watches Gonchar handle the charm, feeling wrong having a part of his power so far away from him. It is separate, but still connected somehow and it makes his fingers twitch with the urge to grab the piece of jewelry from Gonchar.

Finally Gonchar offers it to Sidney and he closes his fingers around it, suppressing a shudder and a wince. “Thank you.”

Gonchar nods and turns back to his furnace, having put Sidney out of his mind already.

Sidney makes his way back to his tent and ducks inside. The charm feels like its throbbing inside Sidney’s fist and he needs to attach it to his bracelet right then, before the sensation morphs into clear cut pain.

He kneels on the dirt and hooks the charm onto the bracelet that had been Valeria’s. He has learned it is easier to attach it to someone else’s power, even if they are dead. It must be closer to how it is supposed to work with your own bonded.

Still the surge hits him hard, making Sidney gasp and hunch over in agony. The magic always feels like fire inside him, but this is different. The fire escapes from the well he houses his magic in and travels through his veins, burning, searing.

Sidney does not know how long he writhes on the floor, but he does not think he screamed out loud. Seeing him like this would be bad for the morale of the battalion and besides he does not want anyone to see him this helpless. Sidney is used to the pain. He has eight charms on his three bracelets. 

Finally the pain eases enough for Sidney to uncurl until he is lying on his back, panting for breath. His muscles feel weak and Sidney guesses he will actually have to follow Bylsma’s order to rest today after all.

Nobody comes to get him as Sidney dozes in his tent. The heat of the midday sun rises the temperature inside but Sidney is too weak to go outside, or even to rise and open the tent flaps to let a breeze in. Instead he lies there, sweating and miserable, wondering why he bothers to go on.

~*~

The 6th legion’s advanced guard reaches their encampment two days later. Sidney has had time to recover from the power transfer, so he is standing on the palisade, watching as the ragtag group comes into view. There are no more than a few dozen of them and Sidney notices the sorry state of their armor and the grim expressions on their faces. They are not bearing good news.

The leader is quickly ushered into the commander’s tent and the others absorbed among the men, who ply them with food in exchange for news.

Sidney edges closer, curious to hear the tidings for himself and catches the end of what the standard bearer is saying. “It was a complete disaster. Hundreds killed in a single battle. If it had not been for the centurion, the whole legion might have been lost. Even then, two whole cohorts were destroyed or captured. At this rate we will lose the whole Ollzein province before winter.”

The men murmur among themselves and shift their feet restlessly. Sidney thinks of his family, safe in the easternmost province of Levan, still so far away from the frontline.

The rest of the legion joins their force at nightfall. Even depleted as it is, the thousands of new men create a huge logistical problem, the valley barely big enough to accommodate them all. The main camp, which is surrounded by the palisade Sidney had raised on a small hill, becomes a place for the officers and most of Sidney’s battalion is tossed out among the legionaries. Sidney gets to stay, his value too great to risk to a surprise attack. 

Sidney watches the legionary officers with some interest. Their armor and helmets are strange and curious. These are the forces right from the capital, the seat of the empire, elite and best equipped. Sidney finds them lacking.

There is a tangible air of desperation about the officers, easy to see. That latest battle has rattled them. There is talk of a young centurion, who had saved the bulk of the legion, but who now lies wounded in his tent.

Some of the centurions seem to wish the man would die, which Sidney puts down to internal competition. He stays out of it however, and the officers steer a wide berth around him, unsure of his place in their hierarchy and not interested in idle conversation.

The next morning Sidney wakes up to someone coughing outside his tent. Not a normal cough, but a dry thing, obviously meant to grab Sidney’s attention in the absence of a knock.

Sidney ducks under the tent flap and comes face to face with a tall legionary, who looks at him with wide startled eyes. “M-Morning ser. I am here to bring you to the tribunes.”

“Alright, wait a moment.” Sidney goes back inside and dons his mage’s jacket. The black jacket with the faded gold accents is not an uniform, but it is an identifier. This is a formal summons and he wants to look presentable, no matter how feeble the attempt might be in these circumstances.

He makes the messenger wait as he stops by the latrine before he lets the man steer him towards one of the fancier tents. It is almost like a small house and Sidney does not have to duck under the flap as he is ushered inside.

The interior is lit by lamps and there is a table littered with maps in the middle. Three tribunes stand around it in heated discussion. Sidney is not an expert on Jilan legions, but he is quite sure there are supposed to be six with each legion and idly wonders where the others are, or what has happened to them.

Finally one of them spots Sidney and smacks the table to draw the attention of the others.

“You are the mage who built this fortification?” The shortest of them asks and squints at Sidney, like he is not what the man expected.

“Yes,” Sidney says. He is not bound by any tie to offer any of them salutes, titles or courtesies. The mages stand apart, only tied to their order and to their bonded if they have one.

The tribune, who had noticed Sidney first, sighs and glances at his fellows before speaking. “We have heard you mages can heal a man, bring him from the brink of death?”

Once the tribune speaks, Sidney realizes that the tribune is a woman. She has an angular face and Sidney has never seen a woman with such short hair before, so perhaps he can be forgiven the error.

“I cannot heal, there are some who can, but I only have destruction magic.” Sidney explains and rubs his thumbs against the rings on his forefingers. It is an automatic gesture, but it seems to draw the eyes of all the tribunes, suddenly cautious.

The tallest tribune, with black skin and hawk nose frowns at him. “You are unbonded. The joining is a strong force, capable of healing almost anything.”

Sidney tries not to fidget under their gaze. “I cannot bond; I have killed men trying.”

The woman looks at his hands again, measuring. The short tribune looks to be wavering, but the black man shakes his head.

“We must try it anyway. He will die if we do nothing.”

Sidney is annoyed by their rudeness; they have not even bothered to introduce themselves to him and here they are, pushing a bond on him.

Technically he cannot refuse them. A mage is supposed to be bonded and if one loses their bonded they must take another. It is the right of his superiors to offer him suitable bond partners in times of war; it is just that nobody has dared to in years. None of the officers in his battalion had wished to risk their life after that first disastrous attempt and Sidney’s power made it impossible for them to try shove him on a foot soldier.

“You are commanding me to murder this man you speak of?” Sidney says as bluntly as he can, trying to dissuade them from this course.

The woman looks at the short tribune. “Blasius is right, this must be attempted. He is much favored by the Consul himself, there was talk of promotion for him. If we lose him on top of all else…”

The short man grunts and folds his arms over his chest, glances at Sidney and then quickly away. He nods at the two other tribunes and walks out the tent.

“We are agreed. Mage, go with my clerk and do your best to save the centurion. If you succeed it will be a great boon for you. To go from an unbonded nobody to the bonded of a centurion. Think of your own advancement if you do not care about the life you could save.”

Sidney wants to protest but the clerk is already shooing him out the tent. Like he wants to kill the people he tries to bond with. Like he enjoys the way his power is always on the brink of destroying and consuming him.

“This way, ser,” The clerk says, and walks Sidney to another tent. It is smaller than the one the tribunes had been in, but still rather grand.

It is dark inside and Sidney has to stop and let his eyes adjust. there is a cot at the back and a servant is kneeling on the floor, staring at him, a strip of cloth forgotten in his hand. It seems he had been in the process of changing the dressing on the wound of the man lying on the bed.

Sidney walks closer and inspects the man. The wound on his side looks terrible. The edges where someone has made made a valiant effort of trying to stitch the flesh back together are red and inflamed. At least the tribunes had not lied. The man was going to die anyway.

“Finish with the bandages. I will wait.” Sidney tells the servant and starts to pace back and forth in the small space. He knows he has to attempt the bonding, there is no getting around it. It is destined to fail, even if the man had not been dying, even if Sidney had not already killed others attempting this. The bond has to be mutual; there was no way to do it without the consent of both parties.

“Has he gained consciousness after he was wounded?” Sidney asks, not expecting much, but the servant, who’d been finishing with his work nods.

“Sometimes, but he is in terrible pain, so we always drug him again. They told me not to this morning; he should wake soon.”

Sidney sighs and walks back to the patient and sits on the edge of the cot. “Then I must wait.”

The servant rises from the floor and gathers the old, stained bandages and leaves, leaving the lone candle for illumination. Sidney puts his hand on the centurion’s chest, feeling his heart beat and his chest rise and fall.

“I am sorry I have to do this. I do not even know your name.”

Nobody comes back into the tent and Sidney has nothing to do but sit there staring at the man he is about to kill. Before breakfast too, as nobody bothered to give him anything to eat. He hums tunelessly and rotates the bracelets around his left wrist. The bond ritual is supposed to be painless but the last time Sidney tried it he almost killed himself as well as the intended.

The centurion is not a pretty man. He has big lips and a big nose, crooked in a way that hints at it being broken more than once. His dark hair is dirty, limp, messy and Sidney can still see dried mud near the temple. They look to be about the same age and Sidney wonders who will mourn this man when he is gone. It sounded like he had connections, so perhaps many people will miss him. Perhaps he has a family.

It is hard not to think about the possibility this close to the man. Usually he can barely make out the people he kills and it is easier not to think of them as individuals at all. They are the enemy and he erases them from the earth.

At least an hour must have passed before the man starts to shift on the cot, his forehead furrowing, his breathing getting faster and more labored. Sidney holds the man down by the shoulders; trying to make sure he does not reopen his wound with his trashing.

With a violent gasp the centurion opens his eyes, staring at Sidney without really seeing him for a moment. There are tears in his eyes already and his breathing is labored. “Help me,” he rasps out.

Sidney swallows with difficulty but reaches over for the small pitcher and helps the man drink a little water.

The man grasps Sidney’s wrist, without even noticing the bracelets and visibly gathers his strength to say. “The pain. No one tell me. I am dying?”

Sidney nods, covering his surprise to hear the same accent he is used to hearing from Gonchar come out of the mouth of a centurion. 

He needs to hurry and explain what he has to do to the man before he loses consciousness again or becomes senseless from the pain and fever. “I am a mage. The tribunes have ordered me to try bonding with you. I have to warn you I have killed men in this attempt. I do not think it will work.”

The man stares at him with fevered eyes and Sidney is afraid he is already too late and the man does not understand him at all in his delirium. 

“Try anyway. Die quick if it not work?” The centurion asks and Sidney nods again.

“Yes, it will be quick.” He cannot promise painless, but Sidney is pretty sure the man cannot feel any more pain than he is already suffering.

Sidney takes the man’s hands in his own, pushing his fingers between those of the centurion. The rings on his fingers feel like they are vibrating minutely as they touch the centurion’s skin. Sidney ignores the feeling. “What’s your name? I should know that much at least before we attempt this.”

“Zhenya,” the man says and squeezes Sidney’s fingers gently. Sidney has to admire his courage and control, being able to master himself even through something like this.

“I am Sidney. Say: ‘I will be your bonded’” He prompts Zhenya, seeing the man begin to fade. The hands he is holding are burning hot with fever.

“I will be your bonded,” Zhenya whispers, the words slurred.

“And I will be your bonded,” Sidney replies hurriedly and lets his magic flow from him into Zhenya. There are more elaborate and dignified rituals for this, of course, but as long as there is the acknowledgement of the bond, the will for it, it is enough.

He can feel his power flow into Zhenya faster and faster. It is almost like putting it into a ring or a charm, but easier. He tries to slow the stream, but cannot. The matter is out of his control now. He can only hold on to Zhenya’s hands and watch as the man gasps for breath.

It feels so good, letting go and Sidney forgets. Forgets for a moment how this ends and let’s himself flow with his magic. For once his magic does not feel like fire. Nothing hurts. 

He passes out.

~*~ 

Waking up is a chore. Sidney groans and covers his eyes with a hand, his head pounding. He coughs weakly and then remembers what happened. Sidney sits up, wincing when it only makes his headache worse and looks at Zhenya on the cot.

To his surprise Zhenya is still breathing, Sidney can see his chest rise and fall, but still he reaches over and places his hand on the man’s forehead. The fever seems to have gone down as his fingers only meet cool skin. Suddenly Sidney is curious to see Zhenya’s wound. How much could the bonding have healed him?

Instead Sidney gathers his strength and wobbles to the tent flap and ducks outside. There are two legionaries standing watch so Sidney sends one to get food. The other one disappears too, so Sidney supposes he went to tell the tribunes.

Sidney goes back inside and wishes there was another cot for him to sleep in. he is exhausted but it actually feels like his magic level has gone down noticeably. It feels odd, almost pleasant and Sidney is not sure how to deal with that.

The servant from earlier comes back in with three others, two of whom are carrying a small table and folding chairs. The original servant is holding a platter of food and a pitcher of something to drink and Sidney is too hungry to really pay any attention to anything once the food in placed down and he can get his hands on it.

There is actual meat on the plate, a whole bird of some kind and Sidney rips into it with gusto. He puts the meat on a piece of bread and pours himself wine from the pitcher. The officers of the legion obviously get much better rations than what Sidney’s company has been living on.

Once Sidney has sated his worst hunger he turns to see the servant carefully inspecting Zhenya.

“How is he?” 

The servant looks at him with wide eyes. “He is much better, ser. The wounds look at least a month old. Healthy and scarring over. There is no sign of infection.”

Sidney feels strangely proud of himself. He has somehow managed to bond the centurion without killing him and actually managed to heal him to boot. he is never been able to do anything else but destroy with his power, so doing something good like this… it feels nice. 

“Do you need anything else, ser?” The servant asks, hovering near the table once he is re-bandaged Zhenya.

Sidney pauses mid chew, forehead wrinkling as he remembers something they had taught him at the Assembly.

“Nothing, but tell everyone not to come by before tomorrow. We will need privacy.”

The servant blushes furiously, which makes Sidney flush in turn. He wonders what kind of stories the man has heard about newly bonded mages and hopes it is nothing too terrible.

“Yes, Ser, Of course. Do you want me to get you some more food, or something else before we leave you at peace?”

“No, just come back in the morning. What time is it anyway?” Sidney asks, worried about how long he had been unconscious.

The servant, who’d been on his way out, turns back to answer Sidney. “it is been four bells since noon.” 

Sidney thanks the man and turns back to his meal. He has been unconscious longer than he had first thought. At least the headache seems to be weakening. Sidney finishes his drink and looks around the tent. For some reason nobody has seen fit to bring anything for Sidney to sleep on and he looks at the cot Zhenya is lying on with suspicion. It does not look wide enough to fit two people.

There is really nothing he can do until Zhenya wakes up. Then he can see for himself how well the other man is, if he is strong enough to take Sidney’s rings or not. Sidney blushes again. It would be bad enough if he was a young kid, straight out of the Assembly with only his two thumb rings to give someone.

Transferring power is a powerful thing and it always takes you. Sidney heard Valeria and her bonded go at it after some transfers before she died. It had been hard trying not to listen to their moans and gasps of pleasure. He has to wonder if the centurion remembered that part of being bonded to a mage before he agreed. Probably not, he had been so out of it, and a man will agree to pretty much anything when in such pain.

Sidney rolls the ring on his pinky and tries not to feel eager, but how good must it feel to give the rings away?. Sidney feels almost giddy at the prospect of it.

~*~

Zhenya wakes up slowly. His head hurts and his mouth is so dry it feels like he is been sucking on sand all day. None of that even registers; the pain in his side is gone. Zhenya opens his eyes carefully, wondering if this is the afterlife.

The tent roof looks like the roof of his own tent, but perhaps it had followed him to the afterlife. Zhenya turns his head and sees a man sitting at the table, head resting on his arms and snoring softly. He is wearing the black coat of a mage and that makes something twinge in his memory.

Zhenya frowns, trying to remember what about the mage seems familiar, but cannot. Instead he sits up gingerly a hand pressed against his bandaged side. It really does not hurt much at all, a twinge only, like an old wound, the muscles still healing. He undoes the bandages and rubs his fingers against the scar. There is no way that should be possible--, the last thing he remembers is lying here, dying in agony.

He looks at the mage again. Everyone knows there are healers, but why would there be one here, on the backwaters of the empire. Healers are more valued than any other kind of mages, their services reserved for the most powerful and rich.

There is no denying that he is been healed though. That or he really is dead.

"Hey," Zhenya says, or tries to say before he succumbs to a couching fit.

The mage jerks awake and stares at him for a moment before pouring some wine to a cup and coming over, offering it to Zhenya.

Once Zhenya can stop coughing he takes the cup and drinks deeply, so glad to taste wine again, even if it is only the shitty vinegary kind they have left. Right then it tastes like a drink the gods would gladly have.

"What happened?" he asks once the cup is empty and the mage has taken it back to the table and is standing there, rubbing his neck absently. Zhenya wonders how long he had been sleeping at the table to get his neck stiff.

there is no way of missing all the rings and bracelets either. Zhenya has never seen a mage wear that much jewellery before and it is decidedly odd.

The mage stares at him for a bit and Zhenya tries to recall if he used the imperial language or just went with his mother tongue by accident. Before he has the chance to repeat the question, however, the mage answers.

"I was worried you would not remember. I bonded us. The tribunes ordered me to try, to save your life and it worked. I am sorry?"

Zhenya tries to wrap his mind around that. Why was there an unbonded mage with the troops and one this powerful? He looks at all the rings and bracelets again, surprised the tribunes had suggested it. Having a mage as your bonded, that is a powerful thing. If Zhenya has heard the whispers about a promotion, he knows the tribunes must know about it as well. This bond means it is a done deal now, they cannot keep him as a centurion for much longer. 

"Did you understand me? You did agree to the bond beforehand, but I understand if you feel like you were forced. You were very sick and in a great deal of pain when I offered the bond to you." The mage says and seems genuinely apologetic.

"You saved my life, cannot fault you for that." Zhenya says and rises to his feet, slow and careful, testing if he is up to it. The mage rushes to his side and grabs his arm. Zhenya allows it and lets the man help him to a chair- his knees do feel a bit wobbly.

"I am glad you feel that way, of course, but I have to wonder if you know what this will mean? For you? People have weird ideas about mages sometimes, but the stories are usually at least rooted in truth," the mage says as he sits across from Zhenya, avoiding looking him in the eye.

Zhenya brings the platter of meat closer to himself and rips a strip off. He chews slowly and looks his mage over. He is not a young boy but close to his own age if he had to guess, rather easy on the eyes, even with that pinched look on his face.

"Some kind of sex rituals, right?" Zhenya pours himself another cup of wine, watching the mage blush up to his ears.

"What's your name? I do not remember if you told me already," Zhenya asks, not bothering to wait if the mage will answer his guess.

"Sidney," Sidney says and finally looks him in the eye.

"And yes, you could call them sex rituals. When I transfer power to you... it is intense, it is like a merging? I have never felt it, so I cannot explain it properly and I never really got a straight answer out of anyone I asked about it, but it does always lead to carnal relations."

Zhenya smiles. "Carnal relations, you say. Well that does not sound too bad to me. I am sure we can muddle through somehow.”

Sidney looks away again, embarrassed perhaps. "You had a stronger accent when I spoke to you before."

Zhenya shrugs and eats some more, as the first few bites have not made him feel sick. It appears the healing Sidney did made him leapfrog the stage of healing where all he could have stomached were weak broths. He is very grateful for that.

"I must have been delirious. I have been with the legion since I was on my nineteenth summer. Even the slowest learner like me will pick up the language given years enough to practice." 

Sidney keeps sneaking glances at him as he slowly makes his way through the rest of what remains of the bird and the bread. Zhenya does not try to catch his eye after the first few attempts. The mage seems a bit unnerved and Zhenya does not want to make things worse than they are.

After all they are tied now, forever bonded until the Destroyer comes for them and the Keeper takes one or both of them to the afterlife. No need to start anything off on the wrong foot. It is not like Zhenya has planned this for himself, getting bonded to a mage, but he can work with this and anything beats being dead. Not to mention that he could have done a lot worse-, the longer he looks at his mage the more he likes what he sees.

“So, this transfer. When do you need to do that? I have never seen a mage with that much jewelry before. You look more the part of a champion than a mage. That cannot be normal.” Zhenya asks and pushes the plate away.

“When you feel strong enough for it,” Sidney says and rubs his thumbs against the rings on his forefingers. It looks like a nervous habit to Zhenya, so he reaches over the table and covers Sidney’s hand with his own.

“We can do it now, better to get it over with, right?”

Sidney is staring at his hand, his whole body completely still all of a sudden. Zhenya takes his hand back, hoping he did not offend.

“I have never been bonded, that is why I have all these bracelets and rings. I cannot give them all to you at once, I think it would be too much. But maybe a few rings?” Sidney trails off, obviously unsure and back to rubbing his rings.

“Alright, let’s start small. Nothing wrong with some caution when dealing with the unknown.” Zhenya assures Sidney and offers him a smile when the mage finally looks up to meet his eyes.

Sidney looks at him for a moment, but then nods and visibly steels himself before standing up. “It might be best if we both stand to start.”

Zhenya follows his lead and goes to stand opposite him on the small free space left between the table and the cot. Sidney pulls the ring out of his thumb and takes Zhenya’s offered hand in his before sliding it on Zhenya’s thumb. It shouldn’t fit, their hands are different sizes, but the ring slides easily over the joint and comes to rest before the knuckle.

The feeling is rather odd. Zhenya suddenly feels rather light headed, but Sidney’s not done. He takes the ring off his other thumb and puts it on Zhenya’s, before letting out a huge breath. Zhenya had not noticed him holding it before but now it makes him laugh.

Sidney looks at him, eyebrows up and half smile on his own face, like he had love to share the joke if he knew what it was about. Zhenya brings his hand to Sidney’s face and cups his jaw. “You are a very pretty man. I think I got lucky.”

Sidney grasps his wrist and the bracelets clink together, the sound distracting. There is something light and intoxicating fluttering inside Zhenya and he leans in closer to Sidney. He needs to touch Sidney, feel his skin against his own.

“You feel it too?” Sidney asks and Zhenya meets his eyes. They look almost black, the warm brown almost swallowed by his pupils. Sidney’s cheeks are flushed and Zhenya forgets what the question was when Sidney licks his lips, leaving them wet and inviting. There is no reason why he shouldn’t lean down a bit to taste them.

Nothing feels quite real to Zhenya, there is a dreamlike quality to what is happening to him. The way Sidney touches him is at the same time a complete surprise each time, but also each touch feels familiar, like they have done this a thousand times already.

Zhenya does not remember taking his clothes off, or undressing Sidney, but they are naked and lying on the thin blanket pulled down from the cot. It is like his mind is skipping over unnecessary things. There is something quite unnerving about it, but Zhenya cannot concentrate long enough to really worry about it. 

There is magic inside him, Sidney’s magic. It feels warm and enveloping and Zhenya never wants the feeling to end. He gasps into Sidney’s mouth when he pushes in, the stretch and burn so sharp in the general vagueness he is feeling. Sidney murmurs something in his ear once he is in deep, but Zhenya does not understand him. Instead he wraps his arms around Sidney to pull him closer, to kiss him again and urges him to move with his hips.

~*~

Zhenya wakes up to an ungodly shriek. He jerks upright and then curses profusely as his side protests to the sudden movement. No matter how well Sidney had healed him, it did not mean his muscles were happy with him. Sidney is looking up at him, eyes alert.

“What is it?”

Zhenya rises to his feel a bit slower and more careful than he had started and looks around. “Where did they put my clothes, my armor?”

Sidney rises to his feet too and starts on his own clothes, all thrown about the tent floor. There are scratch marks on his back and Zhenya suppresses a smile. Too bad there is no time for round two, this time with his whole faculties in check.

“My clothes?” He reminds Sidney.

“I do not know, you were in your underclothes the first time I saw you,” Sidney says and pokes his head outside the tent flap.

“There is something going on outside, but they have not roused the men,” Sidney notes and comes back inside.

“That is why I need my clothes,” Zhenya says patiently and hikes up his underwear. This time he goes to take a look outside. He cannot see anyone out of the ordinary, but he heard what he heard. At least Olli is standing guard, so he sends the man for his things.

They take turns with the chamber pot and Sidney lights some lamps for light. Zhenya watches that, fascinated and looks down at his hands with their new rings.

“I guess I will have to start praying to the Keeper now, being your champion,” Zhenya says and takes a seat.

Sidney looks confused for a moment. “You did not pray to her before?”

“Not really the praying type, I have made sacrifices to the Destroyer, but that is expected in our line of work.” Zhenya explains and shows Sidney the pendant he wears. it is a small bone, carved with the runes for a quick death.

Sidney nods, frowning and Zhenya notices he is rubbing at his rings again.

Olli enters the tent, salutes Zhenya and looks around efficiently before ducking back out and letting the servants in, carrying a trunk between them.

“Thank you, I can manage the rest on my own,” Zhenya dismisses them and starts taking out some clothes. He goes for the kilt, plain tunic and then quickly fastens the breastplate over it. He leaves the mail armor, bracers and greaves off, he is not expecting an attack after all, just wants to look presentable.

“Is there a mirror?” Zhenya asks, annoyed that the servants had not seen fit to actually outfit his tent the way it would normally be. They really must have thought he was going to die, which is a sobering thought.

“No, but you look fine,” Sidney says, watching him dubiously. Zhenya realizes he should explain some things, now that they are as good as married, but it will just have to wait.

“I will trust your word. You might comb your hair while you wait,” Zhenya says, a bit remorseful, as he rather likes the tousled look on Sidney.

His boots have been shined, so at least there is that. Zhenya laces them up and finally dons his sword and takes his helmet under one arm.

“Let’s go see who they sent, shall we?” He says and walks out into the morning sunshine. It is a lot brighter than it was in the tent so he pauses and squints around. The men who walk past all offer him salutes and Zhenya is pretty sure the relieved smiles are genuine. That must mean his plan saved more men than it sacrificed, otherwise they would be cursing him instead. Zhenya makes a mental note to find out what happened after he got hurt and go see his men as soon as he can.

“What is going on?” Sidney asks, standing at his elbow, arms crossed over his chest.

Zhenya looks him over before starting walking towards the tribunes command tent. Whoever they sent they will be there. He notices Sidney does not repeat his question, but he looks to be fuming. it is good to get the measure of a man as soon as possible. that is what his mom always says.

There are two huge black griffins on the small open space outside the command tent. Zhenya grimaces. The blacks are straight from the capital, as it is only the senate that has the right to breed griffins of that color.

Sidney seems to know this too, and he gives Zhenya a hard look, which he chooses to ignore for the time being. He knows the man standing with the griffins and that can only mean one thing. Zhenya hurries inside the tent, hoping he is wrong just this once.

“Zhenya, thank the Keeper you are alive.”

Zhenya does not have a chance to say anything, before he is pulled into an embrace. Patrice pulls away, still gripping Zhenya by the shoulders and there are tears in his eyes.

“You shouldn’t have come, old friend. Not this close to the front lines. They must have told you the rest of it too and not just how I was doing.” Zhenya chastises him and grips Patrice’s nape once, before letting go and taking a step back.

Patrice waves a hand, dismissing Zhenya’s worries. “You are my brother, what was I supposed to do? Stay in Jila and forget about you?”

“Adopted brother, and yes. You are the Consul; you cannot just go traipsing around wherever you please.” Zhenya sighs and takes a seat at the table. He looks at Sidney, who is still standing at the tent door, his face completely expressionless.

Patrice seems to notice him at the same moment and smiles at him warmly, “Thank you so much for saving his life. I must see to it that you are rewarded.”

Sidney looks unsure again. “I am sure it is not necessary. I did not do it out of my own volition, so I would not feel right getting credit for something I would not have done on my own.”

“Oh? Well I am still grateful. Would you join us at the table? I believe it is customary to congratulate a newly bonded pair. I will pour us some wine.” Patrice says, undeterred in his politeness and goes to bring the pitcher from the small side table.

Zhenya clears away some of the maps, even though he is dying to know what the situation is. There will be a new briefing after the night patrols return, so he will just join the other centurions on that. If Patrice is gone by then. 

Patrice pours the wine and patiently draws Sidney into conversation. First he tries to ask the mage about his home, but to Zhenya’s and Patrice’s shared bemusement, Sidney seems uninterested in what is going on in his home province and freely admits he feels no close ties to the place.

It seems the mage has not seen his home since he was a boy and Zhenya swears to himself to take Sidney home to see his family as soon as they can disentangle from this cursed war. Everyone needs roots, of this Zhenya is sure.

The conversation meanders awkwardly, as it seems Sidney knows little of the Empire’s business and cares even less. It gets even a famed diplomat like Patrice off balance as he tries to get to know Sidney. Zhenya is happy to sit in silence and observe the situation, a thing he is done countless times with Patrice, but after a while Zhenya realizes that maybe he should take Sidney’s side over Patrice’s and help Sidney divert the conversation.

It is no hardship for Zhenya, after all he is dying for news, so he asks. “How fares the Empire truly, Patrice? It is hard to draw an accurate picture from the frontline, but it does not look good to me. What do the other Consuls say? Or the senate for that matter. The last I heard from you, you told me they are bemoaning the cost of maintaining the troops.”

He does not miss the grateful look Sidney directs his way and it makes him feel oddly elated. He wonders how deeply the bonding will affect him.

Patrice looks at Sidney for a moment, but goes on. “I suppose I can say anything in his presence now. You two are as one in the eyes of the law, after all. Things are progressing as they always do. Senators look to their own interests and the interests of their provinces before anything else. Only the provinces closest to the border still enthusiastically support the war. However, even in their ranks there are whispers of dissent.”

He pauses. “I will not accuse anyone, but there are rumors that agents of Sedorn have made promises. Of lands given back to the control of the Jilan nobles, even if the province is lost.”

Zhenya leans forward on his stool, eyes intent on the maps as he hunts for the one showing the three Westernmost provinces, two of which are already lost, even if nobody is admitting it out loud yet.

“Do you have more than rumors?” Zhenya asks and taps the map. “You do not seem upset.”

Patrice sighs deeply and drains his cup. “I did not come here only to see you, my dear brother.”

“What are you saying?” Zhenya asks, his voice low and dangerous. He has an inkling and he does not like it at all.

“You guessed it. I am to meet one of their generals. A week from now. Hearing of you being wounded gave me a credible reason to come this far. Now it is easy enough to hide the fact that I will not be staying here,” Patrice looks unhappy, but determined, which only angers Zhenya more. 

He bangs his fist on the tabletop and rises to pace the tent. “Who allowed you to do this? You did not debate this on the Senate floor I hope! It smells like a trap from miles away and if everyone knows…”

Zhenya tries to reign himself in when he notices that both Patrice and Sidney are watching him from their seats. He is not presenting himself in the best light to his new companion.

“The Senate does not know. Almost nobody knows. Zhenya, do you take me for a fool?” Patrice asks sharply.

“No, but I take you for a self-sacrificing idiot!” Zhenya shouts and rakes his fingers through his hair.

They all turn to look, as the tentflap opens and a man steps inside. He offers Zhenya a dry smile. “it is good to hear your lungs are unharmed and you are most certainly on the mend. I must urge you both to speak in lower tones however. The perimeter to the closest tents is within shouting distance.”

Zhenya waves the warning away. “I am angry with you too Andrew. How could you allow Patrice to come here on this fool’s errand? You, his guard Captain.”

Andrew directs his next smile to Patrice. “We must all pick our battles, friend. Sometimes I cannot sway the Consul, no matter how I try.”

Patrice does not seem amused. “I would not have agreed to this if I thought the Sedorn had deceit in their minds. They are sending their best general. If they wished to betray us, would they not send someone less important?”

“They are not sending any of their princes. That would be someone of equal importance to you. What is a general? A soldier, easily replaced.” Zhenya scoffs.

“Such distain for your own profession,” Patrice tuts.

“But it is pointless to argue about it now. The meeting has been agreed upon, I cannot back down now. Like you said yourself, Zhenya, we are not in a position of strength coming into any talks and being seen as breaking our word…” Patrice does not need to finish.

Zhenya walks past Sidney to get more wine and wonders what the man is thinking about. To be thrown into this as someone as uninterested in politics as Sidney appears? “Do you wish to go back to your tent, I can say with certainty it will takes hours for me and Patrice to run out of things to argue about.”

Sidney looks at him, eyes serious. “I would rather stay.”

Zhenya nods, and again that uncharacteristic twinge of happiness at the thought that Sidney wishes to remain with him. 

~*~

It seems Zhenya was not lying when he said he could argue with the consul for hours. Sidney, who is usually left out of all military matters until the eve of battle, finds the arguments quite fascinating. Once Zhenya seems to give up on trying to convince the consul to change his mind they smoothly change gears to going over every detail of their plan.

Andrew, seems quite adamant that his plan is sound and as far as Sidney can tell it makes sense. Very defensively sound in all aspects. Andrew draws a map of the small fishing village where the talks will take place and details all his plans of extracting the Consul if something should go awry.

The look on the Consul’s eye is endlessly fond as he watches the two men argue about where it would be best to leave the griffins. Sidney can tell these three have known each other for years and built a trust between them that could not be broken by anything.

So why is Zhenya only a centurion in a legion thrown out on the frontlines? It does not make any sense, now that Sidney has seen how high his connections go.

Finally Zhenya is satisfied that he knows the plan through and through and says. “Well obviously I have to accompany you. There is no way I am letting you go without me.”

The Consul sighs and exchanges a look with his captain. “I guessed as much. We agreed on ten people in retinue, so it is not a real problem. Sidney are you alright with this plan of ours, I notice that Zhenya failed to ask your opinion as easily as he ignores mine. I have to warn you, it is a bad habit of his, thinking he knows what’s best for everyone.”

“If you command it, otherwise I am not quite sure how this should work, as I am not part of the 6th legion as Zhenya is.” Sidney says, wary all of a sudden. He is been with his battalion for half a decade after all and now he will most likely just be transferred. And how will that affect his old battalion with no mages left? He is pretty sure people will be cursing him soon.

“Ah, well Zhenya will take care of that with your commanders, soon I am sure,” the Consul says and gives Zhenya a meaningful look.

Zhenya shrugs. “When was I supposed to take care of it? We bonded yesterday and I have only been on my feet for half a day.” 

The expression on the Consul’s face softens instantly and he says to Andrew, “Go ask someone to bring us food and refreshments. In all this excitement I almost forgot how worried I was for Zhenya only hours ago. Let us share a meal and worry about tomorrow later.”

As they eat, the Consul catches Zhenya up to what has been happening in the capital. Sidney gathers that Zhenya has been on the march with the 6th legion for about an year. As they are finishing the last of the wine, there is a call from outside the tent before the three tribunes walk in, visibly annoyed.

The Consul rises to his feet and offers a friendly smile, going to meet them and clasp hands. This seems to mollify the short man, but the woman is scowling still and says. “We must insist on having a conversation with you Consul. There are things we need to know and other things we wish to convey to the senate if you are amenable to taking out message.”

The Consul nods along. “Of course and I do apologise for making you wait for so long. I hope you can understand the need for me to spend some time with my kin.”

While the Consul is making nice Andrew smoothly ushers Sidney and Zhenya out of the tent. The sun only a narrow orange stripe on the horizon and the sounds around them are of men settling down for the night. 

They walk past a regular patrol and the men salute Zhenya and one of the men says, “Good to see you up and about Centurion.”

Andrew walks with them until they come to the Griffins and stops there, resting his hand on the neck of the closest beast. Sidney cannot help but to stare. He has never seen one this close in his life. The eagle head is tilted towards Andrew and the beast reaches over and gently preens Andrews hair with its beak. Sidney stares in mute horror, the Griffin is so big that had it wanted to, it could swallow a man’s head in one fell swoop.

“We will leave tomorrow, right after the sixth bell. My men have been riding towards the Crossing since we arrived, so they should beat us there and be able to supply us with intelligence once we catch up with them. Zhenya, I know you have your suspicions about this mission and I am not without my own doubts, but should we not trust Patrice on this? We both know how good his instincts are.”

Zhenya kicks up a small puff of dust with his boot and huffs out a breath. “I know. But the idea of walking into an ambush…”

Andrew nods. “It chills the blood. However, Patrice is adamant that it would be a terrible tactical decision for them to kill him. What would it gain them? We still have two other consuls and the senate to rule. Not to mention that killing him would only make this war more popular among our people, as everyone would be clamoring for revenge. Patrice is sure they want peace as much as we do.”

“Easy for them to want peace now that they have stolen two provinces from us. What have they lost?” Zhenya grumbles.

“Sedorn is not as big as Jila, they must be at their limit at supplying new troops for their armies. They have lost a great deal.” Andrew reminds Zhenya before wishing them a good night and walking back towards the Tribune’s tent.

“I hate it when he is smart. What right does he have to it, guard captain like him,” Zhenya complains to Sidney as they make their way back to Zhenya’s tent.

“You have a low opinion of soldiers, for being one yourself,” Sidney comments and ducks into the tent.

A servant must have been here, not too long ago as there is a still lamp burning on the small table. All of Sidney’s things were moved in here while they were gone. Sidney eyes them with dismay, suddenly all too aware of the fact that he is supposed to live with Zhenya now. Live with him for the rest of his life.

Zhenya is taking off his uniform as he answers. “I have spent most of my adult life among soldiers. We are not that smart generally. Why else would we volunteer to get killed in these battles?”

Sidney shrugs, he is not one to think too hard on why he does what he does. it is enough to have some purpose. After all, what else would he do if he was not here? 

The question seems more tangible now that it seems they might have peace with the Sedorn. Sidney turns to regard Zhenya, who is now rummaging for something from his trunk, his bare back almost bronze in color under the faint light of the lamp.

“What will you do if the talks are successful and the war is over” Sidney asks.

Zhenya pauses and straightens up with a linen shirt in his hands. “My father always wanted me to go into politics, but I am not sure I have the temper for it. What would you like?”

Sidney shrugs and goes to light another lamp with his power. It gives him a moment to think. “My teachers always told me, I was too volatile, too powerful to be a good mage, I have been on the front lines since I was barely a man.”

“Your power… Do you need another transfer? I feel strong enough for it. I would rather not do it while we are on the road or especially once we get close to the Sedorn troops,” Zhenya says and sits down on the cot. He still has not put the shirt on and this is proving to be a distraction.

Sidney feels his bare thumbs, still not used to them being without rings and wonders about losing more. Yes he is gaining balance, feeling the level on his well lowering to more tolerable levels and yes it would go down even further with another transfer, but it would also mean binding himself even more tightly to Zhenya. 

This binding, drawing closer and closer should be a gradual process. After all it takes some mages years to gather enough power to form even one ring and the normal pace is one ring per year. Sidney still holds eight on his fingers and then there are the three bracelets.

Just thinking on giving them all to Zhenya makes Sidney shiver unpleasantly as he imagines all his power flowing through Zhenya. Not really controlled, but not truly his own to command either.

“Perhaps two more,” Sidney says, a compromise. He wants that feeling other mages always talk about, where they have to draw power up from their well, instead of the torrent always threatening to overwhelm, as it has always been for Sidney.

“If you are sure? I never asked how the sharing was for you,” Sidney adds and takes a step closer to Zhenya.

The man shrugs. “It felt… like I was making room for you. I could feel you everywhere, deep inside, and that was before you ever got your cock in me. It was not bad.”

Sidney knows he is blushing at the offhanded way Zhenya had mentioned their coupling and cannot quite meet his eyes.

“You do not resent the passive role? It would be thus again, if I were to give you more of my rings,” Sidney asks.

Zhenya’s laugh startles Sidney into meeting his eyes again, so he is prepared when Zhenya grabs his hand and pulls Sidney to stand between his thighs.

“You saw me as passive in our lovemaking?” Zhenya asks and lifts Sidney’s hand to his face and kisses him on the knuckles.

The gesture is innocent enough, but still it makes Sidney’s breath catch. “No, I… I did not mean…”

Zhenya quirks an eyebrow at Sidney and drags his tongue teasingly down between Sidney’s first and middle finger, before he says. “Pleasure is pleasure. Best to enjoy ourselves now that we still have the privacy, do not you agree?”

He goes back to doing indecent things to Sidney’s fingers, which Sidney had not even thought was possible before now. 

Sidney collapses to sit on Zhenya’s knee when the man pulls his first finger deep into his mouth. The feeling on having his digit sucked into that hot, tight heat making Sidney imagine how that mouth would feel on other parts of his body, or on one particular part specifically.

“Alright, cease tormenting me for a moment, so I can give you the rings,” Sidney gasps out and pulls his finger free. Zhenya grins at him and licks his lush lips, only making Sidney feel more out of control, his thoughts already muzzy before he has even begun the transfer.

The ring slips off his finger easily. Again, it fits Zhenya’s finger which should be impossible, somehow expanding as Sidney pushes it down and over the joints until it rests against the knuckle.

Sidney gasps and hurriedly repeats the same with the other ring. He can feel the connection between them opening again. Feel his power flow into and through Zhenya. Helpless to stop himself, Sidney leans into Zhenya and presses their lips together. He feels desperate to touch, to hold, to possess Zhenya’s body. Needs them to become one, the same way as his power is now shared between them.

“Please, please let me?” Sidney begs Zhenya as they strip each other of clothes.

“Yes, anything,” Zhenya gasps, as Sidney finally gets to bare skin and slides his hands down Zhenya’s torso.

~*~

The first day’s ride goes without a hitch. Zhenya’s horse has obviously been around Griffins before and does not get spooked by them running along with them on the plains. Sidney’s magic does not mix well with horses, for whatever bizarre reason, so he is riding his mule, which does not seem to care one whit about what beasts are accompanying it. Even the war-bred stallion of Zhenya’s shies away from Sidney if given the chance.

“Are not we holding the Consul back? Surely the Griffins could make the journey much quicker on wings,” Sidney asks when they pause for a midday meal and the Consul and his captain are out of hearing range, talking with each other, heads close together.

Zhenya hands Sidney a piece of dried meat and hard cheese. “Yes, but they would have had to make the journey slowly anyway to give the advance party time to reach the lake ahead of them. I also did not give Patrice the option of leaving us behind.”

They are making good progress as they travel. Even with Sidney’s slower mule Zhenya and Andrew estimate that they will reach the lake in five days. 

“It is good we arrived with time to spare, now that we are forced to drag you along with us,” Andrew says and rolls up the map they had all been looking at. Sidney takes a last swallow from his water skin and ties it back to his mule’s saddle. 

“I will not listen to you bicker about this again. Andrew, leave it be, Zhenya and Sidney are with us and there is no point in arguing about it anymore. Let us try and get along, so the journey will not feel so long.” Patrice interrupts Andrew before he and Zhenya have the chance to start another argument.

On the first night they stop at a well-worn campsite. There are posts to tie their horses and Griffins to, a fire pit with logs around it to sit on. There is an old well and still some signs of habitation around. Sidney almost trips on the half buried foundations of a long abandoned building when he is walking further away from their group to relieve himself.

When he comes back Andrew already has the fire started, but Sidney pushes the process along, careful not to burn Andrew’s fingers as the man feeds the fire dry twigs and leaves.

The Consul is digging in the bags for rations and passes the well wrapped bread to Sidney. “Best eat that now when it is still fresh; we have plenty of dry food for the later days.”

Sidney takes out his knife and slices the bread in four equal chunks, giving the two away and keeping his and Zhenya’s.

Andrew toasts his on the fire, but Sidney does not want to risk burning his, so he eats it cold with the cheese the Consul shared.

Zhenya comes join them with a bucket full of water. “It is still good to drink. Or at least the animals did not seem to mind when I let them drink first.”

“Let’s make tea of it, just in case,” The Consul suggests and digs out the small pot from his bag.  
Sidney gives Zhenya his share of the food and the man sits down next to him, their sides touching. there is more than enough space on the log for Zhenya to sit further away, but Sidney finds he does not mind the casual closeness.

Once the tea is done, the sun has all but disappeared beyond the horizon and Andrew comes back into the circle of light cast by their fire. Sidney had assumed the man had been answering natures call, but Andrew seems to have done more than that.

“I notices tracks near where we came off the road. The shoes on the horses are Jilan. At least now we know my men came by this way earlier. It has not been raining in the past few days, so the tracks were still readable. I might fly ahead tomorrow, see if I can catch up to them in a day and come back with news.”

Zhenya nods, “See, you could not do that without me and Sidney here. Could not leave Patrice alone to travel while you scout ahead.”

Andrew gives Zhenya a dirty look, but is distracted from it when the Consul offers him a cup of steaming tea.

Sidney notices the Consul moving around carefully the next morning. The man seems unused to sleeping on the hard ground, but Sidney is impressed with how he does not complain about his aches and pains to them. Sidney has never met anyone from the Empire proper; from Jila, but from the soldier’s stories he had gathered that they were all rather pampered and impractical. Especially the high born politicians. Sidney already likes the Consul, but the more time he spends with Zhenya’s brother, the more the feeling is strengthened.

Before they mount up again Zhenya comes to stand by Sidney and takes his hand into his own. The gesture, as innocent as it is, startles Sidney. Even though they have spent two nights together, getting to know each other’s bodies very intimately, he is not used to touches like these. There is also the added strangeness to feel his magic loop from him to Zhenya and then back through the physical contact as the rings in Zhenya’s fingers touched his skin again.

“Huh, that feels odd,” Zhenya says, so it seems he can sense the magic too, when they are like this.

Sidney has to fight the urge to draw on his well through Zhenya. He does not need more power and there is nothing to use it on. Still, feeling the potential there makes his bones ache with curiosity. How much stronger is he now?

“I only meant to wish you good morning, but now I want you to explain some of this magic business to me while we ride,” Zhenya says and leans in to press a kiss on Sidney’s lips.

Before Sidney has time to kiss him back, Zhenya has already pulled away and let go of Sidney’s hand. The whole world seems to suddenly lose some of its vibrancy, colors look washed away and Sidney feels tired, listless, even though he had a good night’s sleep.

It takes all his willpower to not go after Zhenya, and instead finish checking his mule’s saddle and mount up.

He has a great view of Andrew taking off on his Griffin, the black beast spreading its huge wings and taking to the air with a running start. Sidney has to cover his face with his sleeve, as the wings beat up a cloud of dust that covers their whole campsite for a few moments.

The Griffin left behind lets out a loud screech in protest, but quiets under the Consul’s hand with a ruffle of his neck feathers.

Late that afternoon Sidney’s mule throws her head back and snorts. She comes to an abrupt halt and will not move, no matter what Sidney tries. Zhenya, who has been riding ahead of him turns to look at Sidney and call up to the Consul to halt too.

They are riding along the edge of a bog, with a thickly grown forest on their other side. The even plains have been edging towards this wilder growth all day. It is a sign they are getting closer to the lake, but it is also making their journey slower as the narrow cart track is flooded in places and filled with potholes.

There is not really room for the three of them to come together unless one of them is willing to go into the ditch, but Sidney can see that Zhenya’s charger is also scenting the air, his ears flat against his head and Sidney is sure only its training keeps the horse so calm.

“What is it?” the Consul asks from the front of the line.

“I think there is some kind of beast close by that is making my mule nervous,” Sidney guesses and climbs down from the saddle. He is not a very good rider and if the mule gets a fright, Sidney would rather be on solid ground.

Zhenya nods and scans their surroundings. “That seems likely. Wolves?”

The Consul shadows his eyes with his hand and looks out towards the open bog. “I think I saw something there. I am going to take Airfus up. If we need to fight that is where a Griffon is most useful.”

Zhenya looks like he is about to protest but the Consul does not seem to think he needs to listen to Zhenya right then. It only takes the Griffin half a dozen leaps along the road to get enough air under its wings, leaving Zhenya and Sidney alone on the road.

“I do not think wolves live in bogs,” Sidney says and lets go of the mule’s reigns. He does not think the animal will run very far and he does not want to worry about anything else if there will be a fight.

The air is pierced by two short and high notes, which make Zhenya curse and pull out his sword. “Fuck the Destroyer, Patrice blew the horn. There is definitely something hostile out there.”

The explanation is enough for Sidney to pull from his well, filling himself with magic. It makes him feel giddy, the need to actually pull in power instead of trying to fight it overspilling. 

Patrice flies by them, shouting, “Bogdrake!” before he turns again and flies back to where he came from.

Sidney frowns. He has heard stories about Bogdrakes, enough to know they are not to be trifled with. They are a huge reptilian species, flightless, more at home in water than dry land, and vicious.

“Ready!” Zhenya shouts, like he is still commanding a legion and not just his horse and Sidney, but Sidney does not mind. Zhenya can see further from his horse than Sidney and he uses the time to form the image of fire in his mind.

Still the emergence of a huge head and a long sinuous neck from under the mosses and turf of the bog takes Sidney by surprise. The creature hisses at them, baring rows and rows of needle sharp teeth.

Zhenya’s horse screams and rears on its hind legs. Sidney worries for a moment that Zhenya might fall, but by the way Zhenya is handling the horse it seems the move is intentional instead of the horse trying to throw its rider.

While Sidney’s distracted, the drake pulls most of its body from the bog. It must be close to thirty feet long, but it is more lithe than muscular and its tail makes up for a third of its length.

Sidney needs to get past Zhenya’s horse if he is going to loose his power on the drake, but he can’t see a safe way past Zhenya’s charger on the narrow path.

The ditch on the forests side is not as deep as it was on the bog side so Sidney jumps it, only getting one of his boots wet and grabs a low hanging branch to pull himself upright again. Luckily it seems the drake and Zhenya are still at an impasse. Zhenya must be cursing his lack of a crossbow right or a spear then. A short legionary’s sword will not do much good against a beast with the kind of reach as the drake has with its long agile neck.

Not that there will be need for that, not when Sidney has his magic. He has had the fire ready for a while now and it is a relief to let the scorching ball go. It is bigger than his head and flies true, hitting the drake on the shoulder.

The beast screams, its scaly skin burned and bleeding. Sidney wrinkles his nose at the smell of cooking. The Drake does not flee, as Sidney had hoped, but turns furiously towards Sidney. The next fireball is aimed at the drake’s head and he knows it will blind the green-speckled brown beast. It should be easy enough then for Zhenya to get close enough for the killing blow.

Sidney lets the magic loose again, but the drake moves as the Consul arrives. Sidney’s fireball almost hits the Consul, passing only a hand span away from his head. The Griffin screeches as it dives down, front legs extended, the taloned claws grabbing onto the Drake’s long slender neck. The Griffin bites down with its curved beak, coming up with a mouthful of flesh.  
The Drake reaches over its shoulder to bite at the Griffin and that is when Zhenya charges, sword extended as far as he can reach. Sidney can only watch, as his friends are too close to the drake now for him to do anything and hopes he will not have to see them get hurt.

The Keeper is on their side this time, as Zhenya’s sword slices into the drake’s neck, sliding deep through where the beast’s neck met its shoulder. The griffin had landed on the drake’s back and is hanging on with its talons and claws even as the drake shudders in its death throes.

Only when the screaming ends, Sidney realizes how loud the drake has been. The beasts head slumps to the road, Zhenya’s charger sidestepping it with a snort. The horse is tossing its head up, the whites of his eyes showing and Sidney is not sure what it means.

The Consul’s griffin lets out another screech before ripping out another strip of meat and eating it. Sidney feels sick.

“Are you unharmed?” Zhenya asks, making Sidney jump. He must have zoned out for a moment, because he is sitting on a tree root and Zhenya is hovering over him, sword again in its sheath.

“Yes, yes, I am fine. Are you all right?” Sidney asks, looking Zhenya over. He cannot see any visible wounds, but he does not know how well the bonding has actually healed Zhenya. Maybe it had been too early for him to be swinging his sword around like that.

“No harm done. Come, your mule did not even run far and we can continue on,” Zhenya says and offers Sidney his hand. 

While they ride on, Sidney tries to figure out why this particular battle had shaken him so much. he is seen armies clash, thousands of men die in a single day, he is buried men under rolling land masses, killed others with lightning and fire, but it is never bothered him this much. Not since the first year.

Perhaps it was that the drake was just an animal, a huge vicious predator yes, but not a man. He was not at war with drakes, he had never even seen one before this day. The worst part was how striking, even beautiful the drake had been, all lithe graceful power and unhesitating instincts.

“You seem troubled?” Zhenya says and slows down his charger to walk besides Sidney’s mule when the track widens enough to accommodate it.

“It is nothing. I had never seen a drake before, I cannot help but to feel it was a waste to kill it,” Sidney admits and glances at Zhenya to see how the man will take it.

Zhenya smiles a bit at Sidney. “You have a soft side to you. It is easy for people like us to say such things of drakes when we live so far from their hunting grounds. I would wager the locals here would thank us if they knew what we did today.”

Sidney nods, as he is sure Zhenya is right. It still does not make him feel any better about it.

“Do you think the sounds of the battle alerted anyone to our presence? That drake was incredibly loud during the fight.” Sidney asks.

“I worry about that too, it is why we are pressing on. Best to put as much distance between us and the carcass as we can, in case someone gets curious and goes to investigate.” Zhenya says.

~*~

They approach Green Lake from the south. Andrew has been flying out in front of them each day, looking for trouble and for the advance party, only joining them each night at their campsite.

“How are you able to find us so easily?” Sidney asks as they are putting away the gear one morning.

Andrew looks at Sidney and then points as his Griffin. “Ael and Patrice’s griffin are mated. They can find each other anywhere. It has proved quite useful on this trip I must admit.”

“Oh,” Sidney says. It is sometimes easy to forget that Griffins had originally been created by magic hundreds of years ago.

There is too much time to think on things as they make their way to the rendezvous spot and Sidney curses himself for not being able to just take each day as they came. That is what he has been doing for years now. It is like bonding Zhenya has made it impossible to stay detached from the world, everything seems to mean more to him now. He is afraid, afraid of losing something and Sidney is not sure if he prefers it to how things used to be.

It really does not help matters that there is also time to talk as they travel and each day he spends with Zhenya makes him like the man more. Care about him more. Zhenya is rash and loud, sure of himself and his place in the world. Sidney somehow finds it appealing now, when it has always been an annoying quality in all the officers he has known before this.

There is something about Zhenya, the way he laughs so heartily, the way he touches so easily, the way he cares so deeply about people… it is all too much, too much for Sidney who has been alone for so long.

Andrew’s soldiers are waiting for them by a small abandoned fisherman’s cottage on the sixth day. There are ten of them, all carrying crossbows, polearms and swords. They look dusty from their hard march and Sidney hopes they are not too tired to do their job properly.

“We can reach the village by tomorrow if we keep going through the night,” The sergeant suggests as they are sharing the midday meal. Someone on the company must have found and used the fishing equipment from the shaq as there is fresh fried fish for all of them. Sidney enjoys every bite, used to savoring every small luxury available.

Andrew exchanges a look with the Consul and shakes his head, “No, best for everyone to rest now. We will get going before sunrise, that way we can still arrive in time, but also rested.”

The sergeant nods and goes to relay the message for his men.

“We are not sending a herald?” Zhenya asks.

“No, they know we are coming and I do not want to give them too much time to prepare for our arrival.” Andrew says and throws the fish bones into the small fire.

~*~

They arrive at the nameless fishing village before noon the next day to find a small Sedorn force waiting for them. As far as appearances go it seems the Sedorn have honored their agreement and not brought in a full company. Zhenya is not going to trust them though and thinks happily of the three archers Andrew has placed around the village on good vantage points to cover their backs.

Andrew also has his men search the small inn where the talks are to be held before he allowed Patrice to go in. It appears there is not an ambush waiting for them inside after all. Zhenya glances at their men and the Sedorn soldiers before he follows Andrew and Patrice to the house. The Sedorn have a glum look about them that he does not like.

The Sedorn general is not what Zhenya expected. He has heard all the stories of how barbaric the Sedorn are, with their monarchy and weird customs about lineage, where siblings will fight each other for the title of heir. The man waiting for them in the small inn would fit in anywhere in Jila. He has brown hair that curls around his ears and dark circles around his eyes that make him look both tired and gentle somehow. Zhenya notes the keen look in them though and is not fooled, this man is as sharp as any of them.

“Come sit honored guests, I am general Kopitar, representing the Sedorn in these negotiations. I have been given the power of signing binding treaties with your empire, should matter progress to such a point,” the general explains as they wait for Patrice to sit down. Andrew is guarding the door, even though he is sharing the duty with a couple of Sedorn soldiers and was not happy when Zhenya took his place in the talks and accompanied Patrice inside. 

Zhenya is not sure how he feels about Sidney being on the outside as well, but Sidney had said,

“I will be of no use in close spaces, best if I wait outside,” and squeezed Zhenya’s wrist briefly. It made sense of course but it did not mean Zhenya had to like it.

They had talked about Sidney’s magic after the battle with the drake and Zhenya understood him better now, understood what he was capable of. All of Sidney’s powers were geared towards fighting oncoming enemy troops. Raining down fire and lightning on them, or obliterating the very ground from under them. He did not have the finesse to fight individual targets, especially not at close range.

Patrice and the general exchange pleasantries, obviously testing each other, trying to work out how the other thinks, but Zhenya has no patience for such things. He chose the army for a reason, he has no appetite for the intricate dance of politics, the backstabbing and grappling for power or influence. 

Zhenya doubts Patrice enjoys it much either, but as the eldest child of his family he had taken on the duty of representing them on the Senate. It really had not taken anyone who knew him by surprise to see Patrice rise so quickly, all the way to a Consulship, the highest power in all their empire.

The foreign general has only one other person in the room with him, perhaps as a show of faith, even though they all know how big his force is just outside the town. The woman is small, slight and very unobtrusive. Everything about her screams ‘do not notice me’, which makes Zhenya suspicious. He has heard of the Sedorn assassins and their powers of vanishing in plain sight and keeps an eye on her.

She seems to be acting as the scribe on the meeting, filling a scroll with neat Sedorn characters. Zhenya cannot read their language and it makes him wonder what the woman is writing down. Are they sending a report to their Queen after this? Can they really trust the word of this general, do the Sedorn actually want peace?

Patrice is looking at a map the general has rolled out on the table, pointing out something on it and dragging his finger down the paper, probably showing where the Sedorn want the new border to run. The idea angers Zhenya. 

How could they have grown so complacent and weak as to lose two, perhaps even three whole provinces to some upstart kingdom in the Southwest? How could they swallow this insult? How were they supposed to believe the Sedorn would be content with the areas gained? Were they only delaying the second coming of an inevitable invasion force?

Zhenya tightens his grip on his sword hilt and grits his teeth in frustration. It does not go unnoticed by the woman, who looks up sharply from her writing, even though her hand is still moving along the paper, only pausing to dip her pen in the ink periodically. Zhenya is even more sure of her being a bodyguard now. 

Perhaps she has magic, that would not surprise him either. Nobody really knew much about the Sedorn magic, only that it was something tied to their religion and considered sacred and precious. Not the utilitarian view Jilans had of the same subject.

A scream from the outside freezes everyone inside the inn for a second. There is a noise, like huge wings flapping and then something huge crashes on the roof, making the whole building shudder around them.

The woman is now standing in front of his general, trying to shield him with her body. Zhenya rushes to Patrice and grabs him by the elbow. “What do we do? Something is attacking outside but it might be safer to stay here.” 

General Kopitar must have heard him as he joins them and nods his head. “That sounded like a Kriantos”

At their blank looks he explains further. “It is a huge flying beast that lives in the remote areas of our Dominion. They are extremely dangerous, be on your guard.”

The woman purses her lips and looks up at the roof and they can all hear the beams creak ominously.

“It has landed on the roof. There is a chance that a beast like that can be compelled to attack us. One as big as this would not normally come so close to human habitation by choice,” The general concludes even as he allows the woman to pull him to the far wall.

“You should not stand in the middle, the roof might collapse,” she advises them too and then ducks into the back room.

Zhenya, who had unsheathed his sword instinctively, looks at Patrice, who shrugs and goes to stand next to the general. Zhenya moves to the small window and tries to see what is happening outside. His view is mostly blocked though, some part of the beast is covering the upper part of the window, the scales of it pressing tightly against the glass. They can all hear the sounds of a fight, men yelling orders and running around, the beast screeching angrily. Zhenya hopes that Sidney is alright.

The woman comes back and begins to whisper in the general’s ear, but he stops her with a hand to her shoulder, “Jen, these men are our allies in this. Share with them what you learned.”

Jen does not look happy about the order, but turns to look at Zhenya and Patrice.

“The Kriantos is massive. It only has a part of its bulk on the roof. The rest is wrapped around the whole building. It is blocking the doors, but we may be able to climb out the window and hope to emerge on a side where the beast is not watching.”

Jen leads them through the kitchen at the back of the building. The Kriantos seems to be a relation to the Drakes, as the part of it that is mostly covering the small window looks scaly. Not bog brown and green, but a strange hue of red.

They climb up a short flight of stairs and go into one of the inns bedrooms, where Jen goes to work prying the window open. Zhenya sheaths his sword and goes to help her. As the general has said, they are all in this together now. After they are safely out he can start worrying about who actually planned this attack. 

The window has been nailed shut, most likely to discourage patrons from leaving without paying for their stay, but to their luck there are not bars in front of it. Zhenya heaves up with all his might at with the help of the spy they manage to force the window open.

Jen is out in a flash and Zhenya turns to look at Patrice and the General. Kopitar shrugs and comes to stand next to Zhenya. “She does that a lot but it seems safe enough to jump down. We can land on the Kriantos to break our fall and from there to the ground.”

Zhenya sees the general is right, even though he does not like the idea of touching the Kriantos on his way down. Some drake species have poisonous skin but perhaps he can trust the Sedorn’s opinion on this, especially if they do it first.

“I will go first, I feel like you would not want to leave me alone with your Consul even if I offered,” Kopitar says and climbs onto the ledge, drops down so he is hanging by his hands on the sill and lets go. Zhenya makes sure he gets down safely before he waves Patrice to him.

“It seems simple enough, but what on the Destroyers name is going on here? Do you believe them about this not being their doing?” Zhenya asks.

Patrice gives him an unamused look. “This really is not the time. Lets talk when we are not in mortal peril anymore.”

“Fine, you go first,” Zhenya says and watches anxiously as Patrice makes his way down.

He does not wait long after Patrice is down before following him. Zhenya does not like how the Kriantos had flinched every time one of them had landed on it is scales, so he does not want to take any chances on lingering too long and giving the beast time to move, or turn its attention to them.

Just as he is about to let go of the window sill he feels an intense flash of pain go through him. It feels strangely distant, obvious almost immediately that it is not his own pain, but during the first moment his concentration wavers and he falls. Luckily he bounces off the drake and slides down its side before falling the rest of the way. It still does not save him from falling awkwardly on his hand and this time the pain is definitely his own.

“Come, we need to move!” Patrice is suddenly shouting into his ear and pulling him up by his good arm. Zhenya follows him blindly to the shade of another nearby building, cradling his wrist and cursing up a storm. he is pretty sure he is broken something in his arm.

Once Patrice lets him came to a halt Zhenya turns to look back at the inn and what he sees makes him gasp involuntarily. 

Of course he had known that the drake must be huge to be able to circle around a whole building, but the thought had not prepared him for the reality. The creature is not like any drake Zhenya has ever seen. Drakes can grow big, it is true, but they always stay more lithe and snakelike. Not this creature, the Kriantos appears more solid, its chest wide and strong. It does not have front legs, but it grips onto the roof of the inn with its wings and snapping down at the soldiers its huge jaws full of razor sharp teeth. It is having no trouble reaching down from the second storey building. Zhenya can see one back leg balancing on the ground halfway around the building. It was only the tail that had been surrounding the whole first floor.

“How can that thing fly? It must weigh tons,” Zhenya asks in awe. How are they supposed to drive that thing away, never mind trying to kill it.

“Might be magic, who knows. How is your arm? That fall looked bad,” Patrice asks and jolts Zhenya back into the present.

“I felt something… Sidney!” Zhenya says, suddenly sure that something bad had happened to Sidney, which had caused his own fall.

“Stay safe, I have to go find him,” Zhenya tells Patrice and starts to run around the small building, trying to keep some cover between him and the Kriantos. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to notice Patrice jogging alongside him.

“Do not even start, I am just as safe with you and besides I need to find Andrew. He will do something stupid, if he thinks we are still inside the inn,” Patrice says and Zhenya does not have the time to try argue with him.

They come to a stop once they have circled around the front of the inn again. There are soldiers hiding here, their own troops mixed with the Sedorn. 

“Does any of you know where the mage is, or the guard captain?” Zhenya asks one of their archers.

The man looks up from tying a scrape on his leg and salutes them sloppily. “Not since the initial attack. The mage has not made the signal to alert the men we left with the Griffins either, so the sarge sent a runner. We will surely be safe once the Griffins arrive?”

Patrice lays a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Yes of course we will be. Are your arrows doing it any damage?”

The soldier looks more assured now and shrugs. “Hard to tell. Sometimes it reacts to them, but I have not seen any pierce the skin. I think Alex got one through the wing when it was landing. he is there behind the chimney, but that did not seem to hinder it either. Did screech really loudly though.”

One of the Sedorn men frowns at them. “Where’s the general? Did you leave him inside?”

Zhenya is about to tell the man to watch what he is saying, but Patrice silences him with a look. “He and Jen got out first. My guess would be they are retreating to your exit point, you must have made plans in case these talks did not go smoothly. Why have not you received reinforcements yet?”

The man does not look convinced but grimaces before he answers them anyway. “The general insisted the main host be left almost a league away. We sent runners once the Kriantos landed, but it will take a while for them to get here.”

Zhenya has been scanning the area while the soldier talked, trying to spot either Andrew or Sidney. It appears word has spread that everyone is out of the inn as the soldiers that had been harrying the Kriantos as pulling back and into the relative safety of the nearby buildings. The Kriantos lifts its head up and lets out a victorious growl before climbing more fully on top of the roof.

The building had not been built for such stress though and even as the huge drake lifts its hind legs on the roof, most of the south end collapses from under it.

“Ha, take that,” Zhenya says and hopes this will injure the drake enough to make it fly away.

Instead the Kriantos only seems to become angrier as it begins to kick huge chunks of rock and parts of support beams with its hind legs as it seems to be digging into the ruins.

“Is it looking for us?” Patrice asks his voice worried. Zhenya understands why, that kind of behavior would hint at a much greater intelligence than the drakes they have ever heard of.

“Nothing we can do about it. Patrice I need to find Sidney, please stay here,” Zhenya tells Patrice and even though Patrice obviously wants to protest he nods instead and crouches down next to the archer.

Zhenya weaves his way around and between buildings, finding small groups of soldiers here and there. Some of them are just hiding, but others are shooting arrows at the Kriantos, not that it seems to bother the beast. Zhenya stops by each group and asks about Sidney, but nobody has seen him.

Finally Zhenya comes to a building that almost touches the inn on one side and hears people arguing in it. He ducks into a small room, where he finds two soldiers, one from Sedorn and one from their troops arguing over Sidney.

“What is going on here?” Zhenya demands to know and hurries to Sidney’s side. He cannot find anything obviously wrong with Sidney, but the man appears unconscious.

“On the initial attack when the Kriantos landed on the roof the mage tried to do something, a spell maybe, but the beast hit him with a wing. He was sent flying and seems addled when he wakes up. I think he took the blow to the head,” The Jilan explains. Zhenya grunts in acknowledgement, but he is barely listening.

Seeing Sidney like this hurts his chest, like he cannot draw a deep breath. Zhenya brushes some hair from Sidney’s forehead carefully with his good hand and gasps in surprise when Sidney opens his eyes.

“Zhenya?” Sidney asks and brings a hand to his temple. He is squinting his eyes and if Zhenya had to guess he would say Sidney’s head is killing him right then.

“How bad is the pain? Are you alright?” Zhenya asks 

Sidney tries to sit up and Zhenya helps him reluctantly.

“It is nothing, I am fine. How did you escape the house? I was so worried,” Sidney asks.

“Jumped out the window upstairs, I managed to break my arm, but Patrice is fine. Do you know what happened to Andrew?” Zhenya explains and directs the last question as much to the soldiers as Sidney.

The soldier from Andrews troops answers. “The captain was here first, but he had to go look for the Consul. He left us to guard the mage. Are you sure you should be getting up, ser?”

This is directed at Sidney who is stubbornly rising to his feet. Zhenya steadies him with an arm around his waist, frowning. Sidney is pale and has a pinched look to his face that Zhenya does not like at all.

“I am fine and I need to go out and make the signal to the Griffin handlers. We need to drive the beast away and the Griffins are the best weapon we have,” Sidney says and wobbles towards the door.

Zhenya knows Sidney is right, they need help now, before the Kriantos realizes the inn is empty and turns its attention to the other building and the men hiding behind them or in them. That is the only reason why he allowed Sidney to lead them out of the house.

Outside Sidney winces and shields his eyes from the afternoon sun. Zhenya hears him mutter “Ow” under his breath and it makes him worry even more. He knows men who have died from blows to the head and there is no way of knowing how badly Sidney is hurt.

Sidney draws in a breath and Zhenya feels a tug somewhere inside him. It always feels incredibly strange to be reminded that he now carries some of Sidney’s magic and power inside him, but this is the first time he feels Sidney draw it out of him. It feels similar to the feeling he gets when he has sat on his leg for too long and the limb goes numb and when he moves again and the feeling comes back with an intense tingle. It is similar but all over his body and strangely directed towards Sidney.

Zhenya does not have much time to analyze the feeling before Sidney throws an arm up and a bright ball of fire shoots out of it and high, high up in the air.

They both jolt when the Kriantos lets out a loud roar and there are accompanying sounds of the beast moving around on the wreckage of the inn. The flare has obviously also drawn the attention of the strange drake.

“We need to move in case the Kriantos saw where the flare came from,” Zhenya tells Sidney and starts to pull Sidney along with him. He is not willing to take chances with that beast, it has already proven itself to be quite clever and unpredictable.

Sidney follows him for a few moments, enough for them to get two buildings closer to where Zhenya left Patrice, before he comes to an abrupt halt, bends over and loses his breakfast violently. Zhenya worries his lip between his teeth as he waits for Sidney’s stomach to calm down. This is not a good sign. The soldiers had followed them and Zhenya exchanges a worried look with the Jilan.

In the end, Zhenya does not see the end of the battle, he is too worried about Sidney and never has a good view, but Andrew tells him afterwards that the arrival of the Griffins really did its job. The two magical beasts worked together perfectly, diving down at odd angles, tearing at the Kriantos’ scales and wings. The attack was so fierce that the Kriantos had no choice but to take into the air as well, it had been so obviously disadvantaged on the ground.

The Griffins had harried and driven the Kriantos westwards and one had landed a good hit on the flying beasts belly, hurting it badly enough to drive it away. Andrew, who had been flying the other Griffin made them pursue the beast for hours before it became obvious it would not try to come back if they let it go.

At the fishing village, things become even more chaotic when the Sedorn troops arrive and take all of them captive. Zhenya stands over Sidney, who had finally agreed to sit down and stares down anyone stupid enough to come close.

“What the fuck do they think we did? The general himself admitted the beast is native to their own country,” Zhenya growls at Patrice as they wait to hear what is to become of them.

“I think they are just being careful, let us be patient,” Patrice says, of course he does, because he still believes this disaster could be turned around. Zhenya was just hoping Andrew would come back soon, swoop down and take Patrice to safety.

The sun is starting to set by the time the general comes back with his female companion. She is wearing a much more formal looking outfit now and Zhenya narrows his eyes at her. It is obvious this Jen is much more important than she had first appeared.

The suspicion is proven instantly as she says, “I must apologise for the way you have been treated, it took some time to make sure there were no turncoats among our troops and we needed to keep you safe and contained for the duration. I am Marie-Philip Poulin. My mother, the Queen felt it was important for her to have someone she could trust at these talks. The deception was necessary but I do apologise for it. I would have revealed myself later if our conversation had been fruitful and I had judged your intentions to be honest and genuine.”

She pauses and rests a hand momentarily on Kopitar’s hand, “My general has brought to my attention the most likely culprit for this attack. There are those in our Dominion who do not wish to see this war ended between our people’s. There are many who profit from our continued conflict and some of those men live in areas where the Kriantos beasts roam. There are magics that can be used to bewitch a being to behave as we have seen the Kriantos behave today. Neither my mother nor I hold you Jilans responsible for the threat to my life.”

“You better not,” Zhenya grouses, but Patrice pokes him sharply in the side to silence him.

“It is good to understand better what happened here this afternoon. I hope this means we will continue our conversation and strive for peace even more vigorously,” Patrice says.

“Yes, that is our will. It appears we must change our approach though, as these secret meetings give our mutual enemies an ease to try disrupt them. If you are amenable we should plan to meet in an official capacity,” The Princess says and nods graciously at Patrice.

Zhenya has heard enough, things are moving along again and he can leave it to Patrice. What Zhenya needs to do now is go back to Sidney.

“We need to get you a healer,” Zhenya says, sits down next to Sidney and offers him a waterskin.

“I will be fine, I only need some rest,” Sidney protests after taking a careful sip of the water. He is still very pale and had the hood of a borrowed cloak drawn deep over his face to shield his eyes.

“You are not fine. I do not even know how we will get you back to our troops in this state. You cannot ride,” Zhenya says.

~*~

Zhenya is right of course. Sidney cannot stay upright in the saddle; he gets dizzy and throws up anything and everything he has been able to eat. There is nothing to be done about it however, they need to get Sidney back to their own troops. No matter what Patrice had agreed to with the Sedorn Princess, they were still at war and Zhenya was not happy to be so close to their front lines.

It took them a week to ride to the Green lake, but it takes Zhenya and Patrice’s guard twice that long to get back. Patrice and Andrew had flown ahead, Patrice apologetic about abandoning them, but he needed to tell the other Consuls and the Senate about his progress.

One evening, when they have camped for the night and Zhenya has made Sidney eat something, Sidney reaches for Zhenya’s hand. Zhenya is sitting by Sidney’s pallet and gladly takes Sidney’s hand in his.

“Can you feel anything?” Sidney asks him.

“What do you mean?” Zhenya asks. He had been distracted by his worry, as Sidney has not been getting better and it has been almost a week since the injury.

“I always feel my magic when I touch you. I cannot feel it now. I cannot feel my magic at all,” Sidney explains, his voice small and unnaturally even.

Zhenya tightens his grip on Sidney’s fingers. “You are not well, I am sure it will come back to you once you feel better.”

Sidney sighs and looks away from him. “Perhaps.”

Zhenya does not think Sidney believes him.

Even though Sidney is feeling so poorly, they do have more chances to get to know each other. The way fate brought them together has not left much time for Zhenya to ponder on what this all means for them, or for him in particular. He knows being a mage’s champion carries with it a certain reputation and advantages; it will definitely not hurt his military career in any way, especially because Sidney’s powers are so well geared towards war.

He glances at Sidney, who is lying down on his pallet with his eyes closed and a damp cloth over his eyes. Today had been a good day, considering. Sidney had only thrown up once and they had made good progress. At this rate they should reach the camp in two more days.

Zhenya has never been in love, so it is hard for him to measure his feelings for Sidney against his previous relationships. He has had flings, certainly, and enjoyed the company of some incredible men and women in his adult years, but nobody has ever really captured his heart. If being in love is anything like what he is beginning to feel for Sidney, he is not sure he much cares for it. So far Zhenya has been teetering between intense desire and soul crushing worry, with the worry outweighing anything else as the days pass and Sidney’s condition only seems to get worse.

“Zhenya, could I ask you to do something for me?” Sidney asks, interrupting Zhenya’s thoughts, which he gladly welcomes.

“Of course, you need but ask,” Zhenya says and places his hand gently on Sidney’s chest.

Sidney smiles and covers Zhenya’s hand with his own. “Thank you. I want you to send word to my family, if I do not make it.”

Zhenya curses the Destroyer under his breath before he answers Sidney, “I will, but this is foolish talk because it will not come to that. Once we get you to camp and you can finally rest in one place without continuously jostling your head you will mend in no time.”

“I have not seen my family since I was a boy. Sometimes I wonder what my sister is like,” Sidney says, disregarding Zhenya’s reassurance.

“We will go visit them once you are well. I would like to meet them as well,” Zhenya says and rubs his fingers over Sidney’s rings.

“It would be easier to face them if I did not have to do it alone,” Sidney admits.

Zhenya lays down next to him, arranging his heavily bandaged arm so he is less likely to jostle is during the night and rests his forehead against Sidney’s shoulder.

Sidney reaches over and cards his fingers through his hair gently, “I am sorry our partnership began this way. I never really pictured myself with a bonded, but under other circumstances I would say it is quite pleasant.”

Zhenya barks out a surprised laugh, “Why thank you. Such overflowing praise, coming from you.”

“I do mean it, Zhenya. I have only known you for a few weeks but it feels longer. I have never made friends easily and I have not had many lovers either. The idea of combining those two… I find myself longing for it,” Sidney admits.

Zhenya feels his chest grow tight with tenderness. He leans over and kisses Sidney on the cheek, careful not to dislodge Sidney’s cool compress. 

“Then our desires align perfectly,” Zhenya tells Sidney and settles back down.

Sidney’s health does not care for their growing closeness or budding romance. As the days progress there is no improvement in Sidney’s condition and by the time they make it back to the 6th legion Sidney has stopped talking. He can barely open his eyes, the light makes everything hurt his head even more that what is normal for him now. 

It does not help that Sidney has had to travel the whole way on a stretcher rigged between two horses, which on its own is dangerous enough, but it is not the most even ride either, as they have no carthorses and none of their riding horses know how to walk in step.

So Sidney has been puking his guts out multiple times a day from the swaying of his ride and the headache and the light hurting him and Zhenya is at the end of his rope too, as he does not know how to help his bonded at all. Nothing is worse than feeling helpless as far as Zhenya is concerned and each day it becomes harder not to think that Sidney might not survive this.

They ride into the camp and Zhenya leads the horses to his tent. He shouts for the servants to come help him and together they get Sidney inside.

“Do not light it,” Zhenya tells the servant who had been about to light the lamp.

Olli comes in, out of breath and someone must have ran to tell him Zhenya is back. “Ser it is good to have you back. There is a healer here, from Jila, she said the Consul sent her to wait for you. I have sent word to her.”

Zhenya collapses on the low stool next to the cot where the servants had laid Sidney, feeling the relief drain all strength from his body. “Thank you for telling me. Could you send for something to eat as well?”

Olli nods eagerly and walks out. Zhenya sits there cradling his arm, tightly wrapped but always throbbing dully and shares a look with Sidney. “See, you will be as right as rain soon enough.”

Sidney offers him a tired smile and takes a hold of his hand. They have been holding hands a lot since Sidney was hurt and Zhenya is not sure who it is supposed to comfort. Perhaps them both equally.

There are many things Zhenya wants to tell Sidney, but now for the first time in days he feels like they have time again. He is not going to lose Sidney, not now, not when things are only at the very beginning. There is time to get to know Sidney, time to learn to love him properly. Zhenya brings Sidney’s hand to his lips and kisses each of his knuckles.

“Keeper preserve us, it is dark in here,” a voice says, startling them both.

Zhenya turns to see a young woman standing at the tent entrance, obviously letting her eyes adjust to the gloom. Her blonde hair does not reach her shoulders, and she is dressed in the orange robes of a healer.

“Thank you for coming,” Zhenya says as he knows that nobody can really order a healer to do something. Not even a Consul.

“Oh, I have been saying the troops should have access to healing for years now, so this was a chance for me to put my money where my mouth is, so to speak. Tell me what ails you” She asks and comes closer to them, her gaze sharp, even as she smiles down at them both.

“Sidney was hit in the head and he has been addled since then,” Zhenya says and rises from his seat so the healer can take his place.

She stops him though and takes a hold of his arm. “Let us take care of this first. It looks more straightforward. Both of you were injured so long ago I cannot promise it will all be healed. Your bodies will have started working on your injuries and I cannot undo anything your own bodies might have mended awry.”

Zhenya feels a deep chill worm its way through his broken arm and the sensation makes him gasp. It takes all his willpower not to pull his arm from the healers grasp.

“All done. The person who set this for you know what they were doing, more or less. it should be back to normal in a few days. Do not put too much stress on it too quickly, or you might break it again,” She says and moves on to Sidney.

“Ah a fellow mage. You must have taken some healing lesson, so you know head injuries are the worst for us to heal. I will not make any promises,” She says to Sidney.

“I understand,” Sidney says and then gasps as the healer has places her palms on both of Sidney’s temples.

Zhenya does not want to imagine what that chill must feel like inside your head. It had been bad enough just on an arm.

Olli comes back with a tray of food and Zhenya thanks him absentmindedly, his attention on Sidney. It feels like it takes hours before the healer takes her hands away and Sidney slumps on the mattress, his whole body suddenly completely lax. Zhenya takes a step forwards, worried, but the healer stops him with an arm across his chest.

“He is just sleeping. I did my best, but with injuries like those… There is no telling. It will take a long time for him to mend.”

“But he will get better?” Zhenya asks anxiously.

“Yes, I think so. There was no blood in his brain, or clots. Those are the most dangerous. Come eat with me as we wait for him to wake,” She suggests and reluctantly Zhenya follows her to the table.

“I am called Jocelyne. Would you tell me of your adventures,” Jocelyne says and takes a piece of flatbread before offering the plate to Zhenya. 

~*~

 

Once the healer is sure Sidney was on the mend she flew back to Jila on her Griffin, leaving Sidney and Zhenya to their own devices. It has been three weeks since the meeting at Green lake and before they have time to even really start talking about what they are going to do now, news arrive from Jila.

The peace talks have been made public and the news spread through the ranks of the legion like fire in dry grass. That night there is a real celebration, relief and hope as intoxicating as the best wine, the men celebrating their inevitable homecoming.

The courier also has new orders for Zhenya, who is being recalled to Jila. Sidney stands in the meeting with the three tribunes as they relay the message and reads the relief on their faces. They are glad to see Zhenya gone.

“Patrice meddling again,” Zhenya grumbles as they walk out the tent.

“What do you mean?” Sidney asks and pulls his hood further over his eyes. He is feeling better but the sun still hurts his eyes and he is not looking forwards to the ride to Jila at all. There is a possibility that he will resent even the sight of horses for the foreseeable future, even though he knows the poor animals are not to be blamed.

“There will be a promotion waiting for me in Jila. I told my father and Patrice’s father and Patrice years ago that I wanted to earn my way in the military on my own merit, but did they ever listen? No, of course not. They all think this soldiering business is silly and if I truly must continue with it, I should at least be as far from the front lines as possible. Once I am promoted they will have their wish.” Zhenya explains.

“Would it matter anyway. There will be peace soon and then there will be no frontlines,” Sidney says and hooks his arm through Zhenya’s.

“I suppose that is true, but it still does not give them the right to meddle in my affairs;” Zhenya says, all wounded pride and righteous indignation.

Sidney smiles looking down, so that Zhenya will not see him. The man can be very prickly when it comes to his honor, or getting things done the way he thinks are right. Sometimes Sidney wonders why he does not find it annoying in the least.

“So we ride to Jila?” Sidney asks.

“No getting around it at this point,” Zhenya confirms.

They begin the journey the next morning with Zhenya’s cohort in tow, ready for the long march to the Empire’s capital.

The journey does no good for Sidney’s healing. The headaches return and then worsen the further they travel and by the time they finally come within the capital’s walls Sidney is ready to swear of riding for life. He does not remember anything of the ride to the barracks where Zhenya has to take his cohort and see them settled, or about the ride through the streets of the city proper and to Zhenya’s family’s property.

All he can remember is that the streets were full of people, carts and animals and that everyone seems to be shouting and screaming. By the time they arrive Zhenya has to guide him by the arm inside and into one of the bedrooms, because Sidney has a hand over his eyes, squeezing his temples with his thumb and middle finger and trying not to throw up.

~*~

Staying in Zhenya’s family’s villa in Jila has been… interesting. Sidney is not sure he will ever feel comfortable in the capital, the city is just too big and loud for him. Not to mention that most of the people Zhenya seems to know are from the elite families of the empire and it is hard to find anyone who is not hopelessly tangled in politics.

Still, it is not all bad. Once Sidney feels well enough to brave the streets, Zhenya takes it up to himself to show the city to him and nothing seems so bad when seen through Zhenya’s enthusiasm. They go see a few plays, because those are something Sidney really enjoys. They go see the great library and sit on a few lectures by the greatest minds of the empire, but Sidney is glad to see Zhenya is not enjoying them much either. Perhaps they are both too uncivilized for such things.

The most exciting thing to which Zhenya takes him is the horse racing. They sit high up in the circus stands and cheer on the chariot teams that catch their fancy.

“My father owns a chariot team in Rivermouth and he is always complaining about how expensive it is. I have heard rumors about how much it costs to maintain one here and if I told you, you would faint,” Zhenya tells Sidney when they are walking back home after the races.

Sidney glances at Zhenya to gauge if he is being fooled or not, but Zhenya seems serious. “It cannot truly be that bad? How much can horses cost?”

Zhenya laughs. “The cost of horses is nothing, it is all the other things. Even getting a cut of the betting profits barely makes you come out on top. It is all about prestige in the end. Patrice’s father owns a team here: he has to with a Consul in the family.”

Sidney shrugs, none of this political posturing really makes sense to him, even when Zhenya takes the time to explain it to him. “Can we get one of those meat pies on our way, I could eat something.”

Zhenya takes his hand into his own and squeezes Sidney’s fingers gently. “Of course. Let us get as many pies as you want.”

“You think I am such a country lump,” Sidney grumps, fighting a smile. He is so happy to feel healthy again, to have his magic back, to feel it bounce between them during these moments when they are touching hands. Happy to share these moments with Zhenya. Sidney does not think he has ever been this content in his life. 

Which of course reminds him. “I got a letter back, from my family.” 

Zhenya looks at him. “Yes?”

“My mother asked if I could come visit them,” Sidney says, still unsure how to feel about the request. it is been so long since he has seen any of them.

“Do you want to go? I can get Patrice to loan us Griffins most likely, that would make the trip much faster,” Zhenya says.

The way Zhenya reacts does not surprise Sidney in the least. He remembers talking about his family to Zhenya when he felt like dying might be the only way to stop the pain and he remembers how Zhenya had promised to take him to see them.

Sidney has learned during their time together that Zhenya will give him anything in his power and knowing that makes Sidney feel both nervous and excited. He has tried to be careful not to ask too much of Zhenya, as he does not wish to seem like he is taking advantage of his now quite lofty position as Zhenya’s bonded mage.

He is saved from answering momentarily, as they arrive at the pie salesman’s stall and it takes Sidney a while to pick two of the most perfect looking pies from the selection.

Once they are on their way again he says. “I think I have to. They are my family and it is the right thing to do. I just worry that we are strangers to each other now. What if they do not like the man I have become?”

Zhenya pulls Sidney under his arm and presses a kiss on his temple. “Such nonsense. Of course they will love you. We will go and if by some miracle they are not as you remember them, if you are not treated as you deserve we will leave. I will take you north to see my family.”

Somehow it is that simple. Zhenya bullies his way through all obstacles and excuses Sidney has against the trip, arranges Griffins for their use --Sidney suspects the Consul helped with that, and three days after Sidney had received the letter from his mother they are on their way to Garingil.

The family farm is still where Sidney remembered it being, even if finding it from the air had been a bit more complicated than he would have guessed. They land on the road near the gate, because Sidney does not want to scare anyone by literally dropping from the sky and also because he needs some time to gather his courage.

Zhenya is holding the lead of his Griffin and looking at Sidney, his eyes gentle, like he knows how nervous Sidney is feeling.

“It will be fine,” Zhenya promises him and prods Sidney on.

They walk up the road and Sidney feels a strange sense of vertigo. Everything looks so familiar to him, but in a distant way almost like he has just seen all of this in a dream. His palms feel clammy and Sidney brushes his thumbs against the rings on his middle fingers -- The only rings he still has.

A dog notices them first and comes loping down the road towards them, barking excitedly. Zhenya’s Griffin lets out a screech that has the dog running away with its tail between its legs and Sidney feels sorry for it. Hopefully that was not an omen of how his own meeting with his family will go.

They come in sight of the main house, but Sidney takes them towards the stables and ties his Griffin to the horse pole outside it. The last thing he needs is the Griffin scaring someone. Zhenya follows his example, but Sidney notices him looking around the yard with interest.

The door to the main house opens and two women come stand on the front step. Sidney cannot be sure but he thinks the older one is his mother.

“Keeper help me,” Sidney whispers under his breath and walks towards them.

“Sidney, is it really you?” The woman asks and yes, that is his mother. He still remembers her voice.

Suddenly his vision is quite blurry and it is a great relief to feel Zhenya’s hand between his shoulder blades, he is not sure if he could do this on his own.

“Yes, mother. it is me,” Sidney manages to choke out before she envelops him in a hug. Sidney can feel her crying against him, her body heaving with sobs and that does it for him, he cannot keep the tears in any longer.

“Oh, I have missed you so much, my dear, my son. Come home finally,” She whispers to him and all Sidney can do is hold on to her tighter. She smells exactly as he remembers.

It takes a while for Sidney to let her go and they spend a few moments just staring at each other. Drinking in the sight of someone thought to be lost forever. Finally she smiles at him, her eyes red and puffy from crying, but so bright with happiness.

“Let me introduce you to your sister again. She was so small when you left, come say hello to your brother, Taylor.”

Sidney smiles at Taylor, feeling suddenly shy. She smiles back at him and waves a bit, which makes them both laugh. “Hi.”

“Hi, sorry I was never around,” Sidney says.

“You are here now. We can get to know each other?” She asks him and Sidney smiles wider.

“Yes, I would really like that.”

“Come inside, I will have the lunch hurried, you must be so hungry from your trip,” His mother says and ushers them in.

Sidney follows her and Taylor into the common room and they settle around the table there. Some of the furnishings looks familiar, but the walls have new murals on them.

Taylor notices him looking, “I painted those. I want to become a painter but mom and dad do not like the idea of me going away for an apprenticeship.”

She bites her lip after saying that and Sidney can guess why. The idea of losing both their children to far away places must not have seemed appealing to his parents.

“You are very talented. I know some people who could arrange a placement for you. Perhaps in Jila, you could live with us then. That would not be so bad, would it?” Zhenya suggests easily and Sidney wants to kiss him and smack him too. He really did not come here to steal his sister from his parents.

“Where is father?” Sidney asks when his mother comes back from the kitchens leading two servants who are carrying trays of food and drink.

She sits next to Sidney and takes his hand into her own, like she thinks he will just vanish again without the touch. “It is market day. We did not know when to expect you and he could not miss it. It is harvest season as you know.”

Sidney blushes, he had completely forgotten. “Oh, of course. I did not want you to change your routines for me.”

“He will meet you when he comes back. Now tell me about your friend?” She prompts him and now Sidney really has a reason to blush as Zhenya’s eyebrows are climbing up his forehead and he mouths the word ‘friend’ to Sidney.

“Uh, well it is a long story...” Sidney begins.


End file.
